


The Truth of the Wolf

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work, The Boy Who Cried Wolf - Aesop
Genre: Anal Sex, Bestiality, Biting, Consent Issues Exchange 2018, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Extremely Dubious Consent, Extremely Underage, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-22 18:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: As you should expect, The Boy Who Cried Wolf never cries wolf again, not once. He never, in fact, bothers to sound the alarm when the wolf is nearby at all—and the wolf comes around a lot. I think you understand the reason for that.





	The Truth of the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bonnebel (dulcetta)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulcetta/gifts).



Everyone knows the tale of The Boy Who Cried Wolf, and everyone knows the lesson it’s meant to teach.

A boy is told to watch the village flock. This boy has no name in the tale because he could be any boy in the world. Ah, as a matter of fact, he could be _you_ —who knows? And just like you, my dearest darling, he is much too young, much too weak, to face danger alone. If danger comes, danger in the shape of a wolf pack, say, he must sound the alarm to summon the assistance of his village.

You know what happens next. He watches, but there is no danger in sight. Day after day after day after endless day. Nothing to see whatsoever except rolling hills and a meadow full of grazing sheep. The boy becomes bored. And so, to relieve himself of his boredom, he decides to try sounding the alarm.

The other villagers rush in to protect the flock, but they arrive only to find that there is no wolf in sight. Indeed, apart from the sheep, the only living thing they see is the boy himself, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. “What fun!” chortles the boy, mocking their seriousness. “What fun!”

A few days later, bored once more, the boy sounds the alarm again. Again, the villagers rush in to protect the flock, and again, there is no wolf in sight. There is only the laughing boy who, again, has gotten the relief from boredom he had wanted. “What fun!” he chortles. “What fun!”

When a wolf finally does come to threaten the flock, and the boy sounds the alarm in earnest? Well, you know what happens. On this matter, everyone agrees: The villagers ignore the boy, and the wolf makes short work of the sheep.

But what about the boy himself? On _this_ matter, there is disagreement. Some merely state that he learned his lesson. Others would say that the wolf ate the boy too, and the boy got his just desserts. Or maybe it should be said instead that _the wolf_ did, hahaha!

Hmm? As for what _I_ would say . . . ?

Well. There is a third distinct possibility, you know. I suppose you’re old enough now to hear it, my dearest darling. So, let me tell you my version of the end of The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

I should start by telling you about the wolf—and it _was_ one wolf, not many, lest you were wondering. Now, as you’ve surely heard, wolves do not normally roam alone; they live in families, just like us. The wolf pack is a mother, and a father, and their adult children from previous seasons, and the newborn cubs left behind in the den.

Sometimes, though, just like us, one of the wolf pack’s children, having grown up, will decide to leave the family behind and seek his own fortune. The wolves that attempt this, they’re called “lone wolves,” and the wolf of this tale is one of these lone wolves.

It’s not an easy life, without one’s family to rely on. There’s no one to help with the hunt, so the wolf is hungry—hungry enough to risk the wrath of an entire human village in order to prey on its vulnerable flock. But even the fullest of full bellies cannot assuage the pain of loneliness. Just imagine his forlorn howls to the moon, unanswered.

The lone wolf’s lonely heart may explain what happens when he finds the boy, on his hands and knees in the high meadow grass, eyes squeezed shut, cowering and whimpering with abject terror. The boy’s clothing, little more than peasant rags even when they were whole, are already torn. His buttocks and small, underdeveloped genitalia are already exposed.

Maybe at first, the wolf is unsure. He tries biting down on the back of the boy’s neck, experimentally, not hard enough to break the skin. His tongue samples the boy’s salty, sweaty flesh. The boy feels that rough tongue, those sharp, dangerous teeth, and the hot, reeking breath, and he sobs louder, freezes, too terrified to struggle. He is submissive and weak, and the wolf responds by treating the boy, not as soon-to-be prey . . . but rather as soon-to-be _mate_.

The wolf is an animal, a mindless beast; there is no seduction, no foreplay. He mounts the boy immediately. His big, furry body seems to engulf the boy’s smaller, hairless form as his cock, long, thick, slick, and pointed at the tip, forces it way inside. The boy emits a thin, high pitched wail as his innocence is claimed and the wolf begins his rut.

He is driven by base instinct, and his thrusts are wholly without mercy. As the back and forth motions of his hips accelerate, and accelerate again, the wolf bites down on the boy’s shoulder to hold him steady and keep him from escaping.

Not that it’s clear that the boy wants to escape, that is. He is moaning nonstop, but the moans might be from fear or pleasure. It’s impossible to distinguish the difference.

As the wolf nears his climax, the base of his cock begins to swell to twice the girth of the shaft rising above it, and with one final, mighty thrust, he shoves that swelling through the boy’s tight, quivering ring of muscle and ejaculates. The boy jerks and writhes beneath the wolf as pulses of hot semen wash through him, and tears roll down ruddy cheeks, but if he is inclined to protest this treatment, it is far, far too late: The wolf is breeding him like he is a bitch in heat.

Afterwards, the wolf licks the boy’s tears away. Then, still tied by the swelling inside the boy, the wolf half rises and changes position so that his back is turned away from the boy’s prone form. This, so you know, is how a wolf defends his new mate.

And this is how the boy’s village elders find them together. They cannot come near, for the wolf, the rumble of a warning growl deep in his chest, lips peeled back to show dagger-like canine teeth, will not allow it. His silvery fur bristles; his amber eyes are cold and narrow. I like to think that they are too distracted by this magnificent wolf specimen to notice that the boy’s own cute little cock is stiff and glistening . . .

Well, then. _That_ , my dearest darling, his how my preferred version—the true version—of this tale ends. As you should expect, The Boy Who Cried Wolf never cries wolf again, not once. He never, in fact, bothers to sound the alarm when the wolf is nearby at all—and the wolf visits him quite a lot. I think you understand the reason for that.

What fun?


End file.
